"And I am glad too," he said; "but what am I to do next?"
"Whatever else you do, you must obey Hanno," I said; "he is trying to accomplish our escape to our ships."
What I informed him seemed to have the effect of plunging him into a deep reverie; he knitted his forehead till a layer of red paint peeled off, and at last roused himself to ask if he should have to accompany us.
"Certainly," I replied; "unless you prefer remaining with these barbarians."
"And with their revolting fish-oil," put in Himilco.
"But here I am a god," said the trumpeter, slowly, as if pondering the matter. "On board ship, Chamai knocks me about, and Hannibal kicks me, and every one calls me a lubber: but here it is all different; instead of being thumped, I may thump whom I please; I gave the god of the savages in the north such a thrashing that he died an hour afterwards. At home too, in Eltekeh, the little children used to call me a blockhead, and the men used to make me carry olive-baskets on my head and sacks of corn on my back, and scant measure of wine did I ever get; but here, I blow my trumpet, and in there comes no end of good things, meat and venison and fish, more than I can eat. It's no bad thing to be a god."
We all stared in amazement. He had never been known to make such a long speech before, far less to arrive so logically at any conclusion; at any rate, his deification had expanded his ideas, and inspired him with a new ambition.
"So then," I said, "you do not mean to go back with us."
He hesitated; but soon said that where Hanno went he should go too.
Himilco began to jeer him: